That Scarf
by Nephiee
Summary: John could never get that scarf out of his mind... So one night he just had to take it. Johnlock. Rated M for a reason! Possible two-shot.


**I should be updating my other story… Instead I'm writing smut! XD I just felt like writing something other than Dim, so I did this. I thought, since I'll soon be getting into sex scenes in Dim, I should get familiar with them again. So I tried. XD**

**I don't own any of these characters! Oh, how I wish I did. **

**This is kind of short, because I'm still deciding is I should make it a two shot or not. I'll have to see what people think of it first.**

**So, here we go! Enjoy my lame attempt at a… sexual scene. XD**

* * *

><p>John slipped nervously through the door, sliding along the wall, keeping his eyes open for his flatmate. Sherlock should have been sleeping, but who knew with that man. Though this was the first time he had a chance to sleep in three days, so John was pretty sure he was out cold.<p>

That didn't stop John from sneaking around his own flat.

His eyes locked on what he was looking for. John's objective was to grab the item and get back to his room as quickly as possible, but he hesitated for a moment. Shame filled him. He was a sick man, but he was getting desperate. He needed it. Just for this night, this moment.

Sherlock's scarf was too enticing. It wasn't the fabric that made John want to so badly, but the place it wrapped around and who wore it. It touched that beautiful, impossibly long, neck. Which should have been a sin, but it just made the man even more enticing.

John wanted Sherlock. He wanted him like nothing else. The scarf was just something that John knew his flatmate was closest with. That, or his coat, but that would be too hard to snatch.

Sucking in a deep breath, John launched himself across the flat. His bare feet were quick on the hardwood, making minimal noise, but he still held his breath, scared of just the sound of an exhale being heard by Sherlock. That man was a notoriously lightly sleeper, even when he must have been exhausted.

It was a quick trip across the flat, though it felt much longer. Once at the coat rack, John yanked the scarf off the peg, not even sparing a moment to relish the feeling of the cotton between his fingers before he sprinted back to his room.

When he was up the stairs and the door was shut, John leaned against the wall, panting. The ever constant embarrassment still clutched at his insides, but there was also excitement deep in his stomach. Lifting the scarf, examining the blue stitching closely, he pressed the fabric to his nose, taking a deep breath.

It smelled just like his roommate. The soft fragrance of a soap, that he couldn't quite place, but also the enticing natural scent of Sherlock, filled his nostrils, making him dizzy. Desire curled in his stomach.

He might as well do what he had set out to do.

He slid off his boxers, leaving them in a lump on the floor, and since that was the only thing he wore, John too naked clutching that scarf. At first he didn't move, instead thought about taking the scarf back and forgetting about this silly fantasy. Or he could find something else. It wasn't like he had a scarf fetish. It was more what the scarf represented.

He eventually came to the conclusion that there was nothing else, and it was now or never. Tightening his grip, John took the first step towards the bed, and soon found himself laying on top his covers. He placed the scarf next to him, but after a moment found that too far away, so he draped the fabric over his chest.

John was already hard, his cock resting against his stomach, dripping pre-cum. That didn't stop him from teasing himself for a bit. While one of his hand stayed in the material, stroking it and occasionally bringing it to his race to rub and smell, his other hand trailed along his chest, gently tweaking his nipples as he moved downwards.

John's lips parted, his breathing was shaky as he smelled the scarf, envisioning that it was Sherlock touching him. His hand gently stroked his side, face nuzzling against the fabric. John could practically imagine it was Sherlock's hand on his cock. He would give John that all knowing smirk, take him between those spidery long fingers and touch the way he would know he wanted to be touched. John would bury his hand in those gorgeous curls and use the other to gently stroke those magnificent cheek bones.

"Ugh, Sherlock," John growl as he continued to imagine. Sherlock would kneel between his legs, his hand never stopping its perfect strokes. John had yet to actually touch the place that needed it the most, instead opted for soft teasing touches of his torso and thighs and just the thought of Sherlock.

His cock twitched against this stomach, desperate for attention. The tip was weeping with pre-cum. John's mind Sherlock would lick that from him.

He could no longer hold back, John led his hand down to his throbbing cock and wrapped his hands around the base. He whimpered from the contact. His other hand was stroking the fabric as he started slowly working his hands up his turgid shaft.

John's finger slid them over the wetness dripping from the tip. He moaned breathlessly, "Oh fuck, Sherlock." He was trying to be quiet, but it was becoming difficult.

Up and down, with a twist of his wrists…He felt like his whole body was on fire. The strip on his chest where the scarf laid especially.

The burn was incredible…

His free hand would move down to fondle John's balls, just as John's course fingers were currently doing. He would know exactly how to work John's ridge cock.

Small twists of the wrist and gentle squeezing over the head had more of John leak from the tip.

His mind turned from the thought of Sherlock touching him, to the thought of Sherlock lying beneath him. John could see those long limbs withering stretching for him. He could see himself marking that beautiful skin with his mouth. John wanted that man, and he could imagine him taking him.

He wanted to be Sherlock's first, because really, no one believed Sherlock wasn't a virgin. But that made it so much better. John could be his first. Sherlock would always remember his time with John. Well, he would remember it if John allowed him to go. After one taste of Sherlock, John wasn't sure if he would be able to let go.

Think about taking Sherlock for the first time was all it took. John felt everything in his body constrict tightly and then just…explode.

"Ugh…oh fuck, Sherlock," He panted out as he came in thick, white spurts all over his stomach, and the edge of Sherlock's scarf. He continued moving his hand over his cock until the end of his orgasm. Even after, he continued to twitch.

John sucked in desperate breaths. Trying to take in more of Sherlock's enticing scent before he had to give back the wonderful article.

He hadn't noticed, but he had been kind of loud when he was in the midst of self-pleasuring.

"John, what could you possibly be…?" Sherlock threw open his door, looking grumpy and rumpled from being woken up. He stopped midsentence when he saw the state his roommate was in.

John silently cursed himself for not locking the door. "Sherlock… This isn't…" He didn't even try to explain, instead went silent. He knew exactly what this must look like, and Sherlock would know better than to believe some lie John would make up on the spot. Not that John could think of any explanation.

He was lying on his bed, naked, and covered in his own cum. While that might have been forgivable, John still had Sherlock's scarf, his most prize possession, on his body, and the edge dripped with John's latest orgasm.

Said scarf was currently being eyed by a blank faced Sherlock. John wanted him to say something, sow some sort of emotion, the most probable would be disgust or anger, but he did nothing. He just stared, and stared, with those forceful eyes, still bright from sleep.

"Sher…" John tried again, but stopped short when the sound of his voice seemed to snap Sherlock out of whatever daze he was in. He took a couple steps towards John, keeping as far away from him as he could, but still be able to snatch the scarf off his chest. His fingers running across his sternum, dragging in some of John's cum.

John would have been more focused, turned on, by the touch if he wasn't so horrified by him finding him. John kept still as Sherlock examined his, probably now ruined, scarf. He wouldn't even look at John. He had gotten a bit too caught up in the moment, and now he destroyed Sherlock's most prized possession…

"Look, Sherlock, I can wash it…" John offered weakly, pushing himself up on trembling arms.

His eyes flashed up to John's, but instead of answering him, Sherlock made a small mewling sound, and turned promptly on his heels, taking his scarf and leaving John alone to stew.

Only one think came to his mind about this situation.

A bit not good.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't know… What do ya'll think?<strong>


End file.
